


Lost in the pages of self made cages

by holograms



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the eighth thing Eliza does after Phillip dies is text Thomas Jefferson</p><p>Thomas and the Hamiltons, after</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in the pages of self made cages

**Author's Note:**

> When people asked for more of this ship, this probably isn't what they were thinking of. I'm sorry. I made it sad.
> 
> in this, the Hamiltons have only 2 kids instead of their entire brood: only Phillip (well, they did) and Angie

The eighth thing Eliza does after Phillip dies is text Thomas Jefferson. 

 **To: TJ**  
_Phillip, our eldest, died today._

She’s sure Thomas has already heard. The murder of the ex-Secretary of Treasury's son has been met with a media frenzy — Alex had told the reporters that hounded them as they left the hospital to _fuck off_ in three different languages.

Thomas’ reply is almost instantaneous.

 **From: TJ**  
_words can’t express the sorrow I feel for you_  
_I’ll see to it that Eaker kid suffers_  
_how’s Ham Sandwich?_

Eliza turns to look at Alex. He hasn’t said anything since they got in the cab; his only form of communication is rubbing small circles into the back of their daughter’s hand and occasionally leaning into Eliza and concealing his half-sobs with sighs.

 **To: TJ**  
_he’s alive_

She doesn’t know what else to say — that when they were told that Phillip was dead-on-arrival that it looked like a piece of Alex died, too; that Alex blames himself even though he hasn’t said so; that all of this is unimaginable. 

 **From: TJ**  
_and you?_

She doesn’t respond.

Thomas takes social cues pretty well of when to hold back, so she thinks that’s the end of the conversation. Which is fine because as soon as they get home, she’s too busy to think of Thomas’ question (one that she hasn’t considered for herself, yet). She distracts herself — she helps Alex call relatives, she reads over the press statement that Burr wrote for them, she sits by Angie as she cries herself to sleep. Thomas, and whatever he is to them, is the last thing on her mind. 

So she’s surprised when he shows up on their doorstep five hours later with a bag slung over his shoulder and holding a pan of macaroni salad from the deli down the street.

“You didn’t answer my text,” Thomas says, plainly.

Eliza blinks. Thomas is wearing a suit, standard government black with red tie, looking like he’s just came from the Senate, which Eliza realizes he probably did.

“You’re here,” Eliza says.

“You didn’t answer my text,” he repeats, matter-of-fact, like he traveled across multiple states just for that reason. “So I took a private plane.”

Thomas does things in grand, swooping gestures, so this extravagance is typical for him. As is how he’s fidgeting, fighting with saying what he really means, _I came here because I was worried,_ because he has trouble with simple things that.

Eliza doesn’t really know what to say to him, so she steps aside and invites him in.

Alex seems unfazed to see him. But then again, mild indifference is the default reaction he aims for with Thomas (it succeeds only half of the time).

Thomas sets the pan of macaroni on the table, and lets his bag fall to the floor. “Your macaroni man brought macaroni,” he says, kind of dumbly. Alex chokes on a sob and he takes Thomas by the arms and for a moment Eliza thinks he may start yelling at him but instead, he buries his face into Thomas’ shoulder.

Thomas goes rigid, his arms hanging awkwardly at his side as Alex leans heavily on him. He casts a sideways glance to Eliza, kind of panicked because he’s never dealt with Alex like this, it’s always been rough hate sex or lazy hangouts or verbal sparring, but Eliza nods encouragingly. Thomas bites his bottom lip and pats Alex on the back, like _there there_ , twitching when Alex lets out a wail.

Eliza folds nicely into them, face pressed against Thomas’ chest and her side to Alex’s, and Thomas envelops them both into a tight hug. Alex mutters about how Thomas’ freakishly long arms are big enough to wrap around both of him, but there isn’t any malice in his voice, and he just sighs, content.

“I’m so sorry,” Thomas says, and Eliza feels the reverberations of it against his chest. “Tell me what you want. Tell me what you want me to do.” He pulls away, kisses both of them, whispers against their lips, “Let me help you.”

“I just want to sleep,” Eliza says, and Alex makes a humming noise of agreement beside her. She is so tired.

“Of course,” Thomas says, his arms falling, and he takes a step away, separating himself from the two of them. “I’ll just—”

Alex catches Thomas by the wrist as he goes to leave.

“Stay,” Alex says.

“Anything you want.” Thomas is always so happy to give.

Eliza and Alex’s _arrangement_ with Thomas has been an indulgent thing for all of them, but this is something different. Thomas tucks them in and then slips under the covers on the other side of Alex.

“I’m here,” he tells them.

Eliza falls asleep to the hushed sounds of Alex and Thomas talking.

 

 

 

She wakes up to the sight of Thomas on his stomach and Alex fucking him into the mattress.

It’s brutal — Alex has one hand at the back of Thomas’ neck holding him down, the other at his hip to hold him still as he pounds into him. Thomas’ face is turned towards Eliza but his eyes are closed, and his mouth is hanging open and he lets out a short grunt every time Alex thrusts into him.

Before Eliza can decide if she wants to participate or not, Alex stills, crying out as he comes deep inside Thomas. He slumps against Thomas’ back for a moment and catches his breath, gasping inhales with his face pressed into his skin. Then, he pulls out and walks naked across the room to the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him, leaving Thomas hard and whining in the sheets.

There’s the sound of Alex taking a shower, and Thomas sighs and flips onto his back, taking his cock in his hand and starts to stroke himself. Eliza feels sorry for him, so she moves closer to him and shoves his hand away and touches him with firm, but slow strokes. It doesn’t take much until he’s spilling into her hand, and he leans in to kiss her deeply.

After, she wipes her hand on his stomach, and curls herself around him. Thomas asks her, “Do you want me to eat you out?” ever the gentleman, but she shakes her head.

Alex is still in the shower. She thinks she hears him crying.

“He blames himself,” Eliza says. “Phillip got into the argument because Eaker was talking shit about Alex.”

“Alexander does like to self-deprecate.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “I don’t think he slept all night.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Yes, but still.” Thomas shifts against her. “I’m worried about him.”

It’s admitted with such hesitance, like the confession is being drug out of him and it’s very painful. Eliza smiles, probably for the first time since she got the call about Phillip. “You could tell him, you know. The world won’t end because maybe Thomas Jefferson cares a little bit about Alexander Hamilton’s well-being.”

“Yeah, right.” Thomas scoffs. “I don’t even know what I would say. ‘Sorry for your loss, I’m really sad about it. Can I rim you until you’re begging to come?’ I’ve never seen that on a Hallmark card.”

Eliza frowns. “TJ,” she says sternly. “Could you at least try to tell him? He needs it.”

“Never,” he says, and really he is so insufferable.

“C’mon, Thomas, tell him.”

“No, I will not tell him—”

“Tell me what?”

They look over to Alex, who’s standing at the foot of the bed and toweling off his hair. Eliza doesn’t know how long he’s been there, but she guesses he hasn’t heard much, judging from the inquisitive expression across face.

“What’s going on?” Alex asks. He isn’t very intimidating with a towel around his waist and his hair dripping onto his shoulders.

“Thomas is—” Eliza begins, but Thomas elbows her in the side.

Eliza starts again. “Thomas was telling me he’s going to make us pancakes.”

Alex narrows his eyes, like he doesn’t quite believe them, but then shrugs and says, “Whatever. As long as he doesn’t start a fire in the kitchen again.”

 

 

 

Thomas stays with them through all of it. He orders lunch for them when they forget to eat, he watches Netflix with Angie while Eliza and Alex meet with Angelica and Peggy, he helps Eliza pick out flowers that go on top of the coffin because Alex can’t bear to look at the catalogue.

He keeps them grounded. He showers Eliza in affection, but keeps his distance from Alex, letting Alex set the course for interaction between them. Eliza tries to convince Thomas to comfort him further, but Thomas refuses, saying, “I’m giving him space.”

The thing is, Alex doesn’t _need_ space. When he is too unoccupied, bad things happen. Eliza waits for the storm within Alex to surface. 

It makes landfall the day after Phillip’s funeral.

Alex’s grief is suffocating, and he’s angry at the world, and he takes it out on Thomas because it’s easy (and practiced) — Eliza is angry too, and Thomas lets them use him. They take turns, Alex fucking him hard and then Eliza rides him until he comes, and then he goes down on her for her to find her own release against his tongue. 

Tired and spent, Thomas goes to roll out of the bed, but Alex and Eliza trap him, biting and pining him down.

“Why are you even here, Jefferson?” Alex’s voice is harsh in Eliza’s ear. “You don’t care about me, you just thought you’d get a lot of sad pity fucks.”

Between them, Eliza sighs.

“That’s unfair,” Thomas says. “I like you for more than just your dick in my ass, you know.” 

“Hmm. Like what?”

“My dick in your ass.”

Alex reaches across Eliza to pinch Thomas’ arm.

“Ow! That fucking hurts!”

“You like it, though.”

“Not in this context!”

“Crybaby.”

“Hush,” Eliza says. “Please, boys.”

They both mutter an apology to her. There’s a blissful silence, and the three of them settle against each other, their breaths lining up and becoming shallow. It’s comfortable, and the anxiety clawing the insides of her ribcage soften, just a little.

She is almost asleep when Thomas breaks the silence. 

“Ham?” 

“ _What?”_

“Love you, man,” Thomas slurs. “Or something.”

There’s a beat, and then Alex says, “Eliza put you up to this, didn’t she?” 

Eliza can feel Thomas staring at her.

“Guilty,” she says.

“But it’s true. Kinda.” Thomas stammers. “Hence the _or something.”_

And then Alex _laughs,_ bubbling up and spilling out of his mouth _._ She didn’t think she would ever hear him laugh again.

“You’re okay, macaroni man,” Alex says, and he reaches over to card his hand through Thomas’ curls. Thomas hums, and then presses closer, squeezing Eliza between them, and he trails kisses down her neck as Alex mutters sweet talk against her mouth.

Now, she can almost forget.

Eliza takes a deep breath, and then lets it out slow. 

She doesn’t let them see her cry.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr @[acanofpeaches](http://acanofpeaches.tumblr.com/)


End file.
